A photo journal comprised of my thoughts on motherhood and other life happenings, as well as some of professional work as a photographer. Southern California is home.
Boy am I relieved to have company in the final photo of this seemingly never-ending maternity series. It wouldn’t be complete without including the much anticipated Van. Thank you to everyone for the support and encouragement along the way. As soon as I popped (“popped” is totally the wrong word, but I’ll share more when I get around to writing his birth story) this boy out, I felt like a new woman. No more emotional roller coasters. No more anxiety. Nothing but pure and unconditional love in it’s most innate form. Becoming a mother, even for the second time, is such a beautiful thing. I guess the beauty in the end wouldn’t be as meaningful without the challenges that led to it. Lesson learned.
A little someone has finally decided to grace us with his presence. We welcomed Van into the world on Monday, 9lbs. 8oz. and 21 inches long. When I’m ready to put the experience into words, I will be sure to share.
Dear Van, these are a few tidbits I wrote to you while you still remained the stubborn little booger in my belly.
-I committed myself to adding two weeks on to whatever due date the doctor gave me after I was eleven days late, and then medically induced, with your brother. I don’t know why I didn’t follow this advice. I guess in some form or another I knew I’d need the support and encouragement if I were to go past my due date. It’s been difficult fielding the text messages, phone calls, emails, and having to deal with other peoples anxieties surrounding when the heck you’re going to join us, on top of my own. There were a couple of overcast and humid days this past week where we actually got rain (yes, rain in southern California in July) and I fantasized about you coming on either of those days. You did not. Then came your Grandpa Niles birthday, another great day to be born. Again, you did not come. And yes, it’s true, I even visited the magic eight ball website who initially said the answer was hazy and to ask again, but then confirmed that you will be born over the weekend. I didn’t hold my breath, but the little bit of hope it gave was comforting. Please know your mom is an absolute lunatic when she’s pregnant. But only when I go past my due date. Before that, I’m just a nice woman carrying around a basketball.
-I started this baby blog for you and your brother when I found out I was pregnant with you.
-Your Papa has been able to work from home on the days I needed extra help. This has been incredibly helpful as of late. He’s anxious for your arrival too, but not nearly as anxious as I am. This is because he thinks I’m going to die birthing you at home.
-The Olympics start this week. I hope to be sitting on the sofa breastfeeding you while watching the gymnastics. Please add this to your mental “to-do” list.
-Your great grandma Helen turned 95 last month. She predicted that you’d come on your due date, the 15th, which was a Sunday. Her prediction was based on the fact that your Papa would be home and she thought you’d be kind enough to wait for the family to be together. You are not kind and she is a wee bit nutty.
-You made me eat horrible. If you are protein deficient, it’s because I gave the Greek yogurt to your brother and ate a cookie instead. It’s your fault, I eat exactly what you tell me I need.
-You kick and wiggle often. It’s a feeling I remember missing greatly after I birthed your brother. The middle-of-the-night dance parties, however, will not be entirely missed.
-I did no prenatal yoga with you. I went weekly with your brother. If I can’t do the splits again post-birth, I blame you. But, then again, which son really wants to see their mom do the splits?
-Hooper understands my belly is called a “baby”. Sometimes he refers to his own belly as a baby. He often gives my belly hugs and sometimes kisses. I’m more than eager to see your relationship with him develop over the years. Please be a better eater than him.
-There is a lot you will learn along the way, but here’s a few tips to get you started: Our family loves sarcasm, so don’t be a pussy about things. Take it and dish it like a man. Sarah is really loving and sweet, but get out of her way when she’s in romping mode. The neighbor is always out sweeping leaves, that’s just what she does. If you grow up with regrets of not having a pool to play in during the 100+ degree days of summer, remember that we wanted one too. We just couldn’t afford it. So save your own pennies. One day you can invite us over for a pool party. When you’re older and wondering what your Papa and I did after you boys went to sleep, the answer is we ate dessert. Yummy yummy desserts we were too selfish to share with you. And lastly, there’s lots of people that love you. Really, really love you. I’m one of them and I can’t fathom anyone loving you more.
My sister left for a hiking trip in Yosemite a week ago. Knowing she’d be gone all week, she wished me luck. I teased that I could still be pregnant when she got back, but you could tell in our giggles that neither of us believed that to be true. Low and behold, here I am. Forty one weeks pregnant. That’s ten months and one week for those keeping a score card. And honestly, it feels like I could be pregnant indefinitely. I try my best to cling on any little change or cramp and am constantly re-evaluating the strength of my contractions (that I’ve had for months, mind you) but nothing seems to pan out. I go to the bathroom with the same excitement I had when I was 15, eagerly awaiting Aunt Flow to come visit (Yes, I was a late bloomer). My trust in my body to go into this thing called labor on it’s own is wavering.
I told my midwife that it feels like I have the laughing-weeping syndrome. As a side note, when I just googled “laughing-weeping syndrome”, wikipedia also co-named the disorder emotional incontinence which made me giggle, giving way to the laughing aspect of this syndrome I’ve diagnosed myself with. I’m being facetious, but in all seriousness, I’ve been a mood-swinging maniac. Mostly on the weeping end of the spectrum.
It can’t be that much longer, right? This baby will come out, right?
On Saturday we went to the Huntington Library in Pasadena to listen to some live music and have a picnic. After asking about my due date, one woman confessed she was “surprised” I was out and about. Maybe she thought I belonged in the hole I’ve been so eager to hide in. What I wanted to say was, “You know, babies don’t just fall out of the vagina. If I didn’t feel good, I wouldn’t be here”. Pregnancy sensitivity.
I stopped at the vintage market down the street from our house yesterday. There’s a point you get to in pregnancy where you just don’t want to hear people’s opinions anymore. Am I wrong? Everyone seems to be compelled to comment on your belly, guess the sex, guess how far along, yadda yadda yadda. It’s gotten draining to admit my due date was last week. I thought I had reached all I could handle until a rough-around-the-edges man came up to me and said, “WOAH! You are preg-nant”. Thanks for noticing, asshole, is what I felt like saying. But I said something better instead, I said, “I’m not sure whether to say ‘Thank You’ or “F&#% You’, frankly”. He quickly tried to redeem himself, feeding me the compliment that I’m “all belly”. Not but 20 minutes later another older man yelled across his booth, “twins?”. I couldn’t even muster anything up to say to him. I really just wanted to smack him clear across his wrinkly face. Pregnancy sensitivity. I’m telling you, it’s a real disorder. I got in my car and left after buying a few really cool things (will share soon) and confessed my new found hatred for the general public to Willy.
So yes, I’m still pregnant. I’ll be following up with my backup OB this week, which is something I clearly wanted to avoid. This path feels all too familiar. And so the anxiety builds…
On the bright side, my midwives are not at all concerned and are very trusting in my body’s ability to get their on it’s own. Van and I are both healthy thus far, so I’m trying my best to share in the same trust.
It’s 5am as I write this and I can’t sleep. This has been a usual occurrence for the last few nights. It happens right around 4am when I have to get up and pee for the second time and when the left side of my lower back is throbbing to the point of no relief despite position change or the rearrangement of the various sized pillows surrounding me. And then I start thinking. What a mistake, right? And once the wheels start spinning, it’s game over.
I remember getting to this point when I was pregnant with Hooper. The point where scheduling lunch dates and planning day trips to the beach not only got exhausting, but also seemed to inhibit my ability to go into labor. I have this weird notion that in order to start having painful contractions, the kind you can’t talk through, I need to be sitting at home willing them on. I know this is the furthest thing from the truth and is instead a rationalization for giving way to my desire to dig a deep hole, wait in it, and not come out until I have a baby in my arms.
So here I am at 5am with the light of morning bringing a new day and an end to my seemingly endless night. Hoping these feelings of anticipation and anxiety subside. Hoping to go into labor. And wanting nothing more to reside in a hole until these two things occur.
I’ll be back tomorrow with a Bits + Pieces post. Wishing everyone a happy Friday and thanking all for the continued support and encouragement.
I saw this video on Tosh.0 the other day. Willy and I must have replayed the video over twenty times, each time laughing just a little harder and each time shedding just a few more tears. I shouldn’t be laughing, after all, I presume my asshole will be hurting soon enough. Either way, this video is just too funny not to share. Laughter is just the medicine I need. I’ve been quite anxious the last couple days and am wondering where the girl who wrote A Family of Three post went as I’m struggling to find that peace I referred to.
Also came across this ecard, which also gave me a good chuckle.
Growth & Appearance: The inevitable has finally taken place. I convinced your Papa to trim your hair. And by trim I mean you no longer have a mullet. It didn’t happen at all how I expected it to. To be honest, I imagined your first haircut to be in a barber shop geared toward kids where you sat in an elevated car and got a sucker of some sort when you were done. Instead, it happened at the kitchen table, during dinner, in the dark. It was dark because we had not yet finished the electrical part of the kitchen. I asked your Papa if I should grab a flashlight or something. He said no. He cut your hair. And that’s the story of your first haircut. The trimmings are in your baby book. You can thank me later for getting rid of what was destined to be a mullet.
Feeding: I hate this category. I feel like I’m always whining and complaining about what a terror you are to feed. And I don’t really have anything different to report. You’re difficult to feed. You even chew the food you like slow. You do seem to eat better in your car seat or stroller and quite often, as a last resort, we feed you on the way home from wherever we are. You’re just not interested in food, which is clearly why we seem to have to strap you down to get you to eat anything substantial. You eat to live, you certainly don’t live to eat. You’ve recently tried bacon for the first time and you love it. You are a carbon copy of me when it comes to food. You surprisingly, however, do not like pancakes. Scrambled eggs with cheese are still a favorite, along with grilled cheese sandwiches, bagels with cream cheese, yogurt, fruits (specifically berries), mac n’ cheese, ground beef with cheese, chicken with pesto, and chicken nuggets. I’m back to giving you a puree of fruits and veggies mixed with your yogurt because you’ve been such a picky eater as of late. You’re such a typical toddler.
Talking: Whereas everything was “wewwow” (aka yellow) last month, this month you have added “boo” (aka blue) into your color palette. “Added” is not really the right word because what you’ve done is basically replace “wewwow” with “boo”. In fact, yellow does not even exist anymore. Everything is “boo” (aka blue). When we ask you what your name is, you reply with, “Me”. You’ve caught on to saying “peace” (aka please) when you want something. It’s hard to turn you down when you’re being so polite. Papa has taught you how to say the number “two”, which you pronounce “tchoo” through very pursed lips. Just as any question that begins with “what color…” ends with the answer “boo”, the answer to any questions beginning with “how many…” is now always “tchoo”. It doesn’t matter if we hold up two or five fingers, the answer is “tchoo”. “Hi-yee” and “By-yee” have to be my favorite words of yours.
Sleeping: You are back to your two naps a day schedule and are sleeping perfectly in your double bed. You sleep about 11 hours at night and total anywhere from 4 to even 6 hours of shut eye during the day. We put you in bed around 9:30 pm and you wake sometime around 8:30am. You go back down for a nap around 11am and sleep until 2 or even 3 in the afternoon. Believe it or not, you’ll go down for another nap around 5pm and sleep for another hour in a half or two. If you’re doing the math, that means you are only awake for 8 to 9 hours, but rest assured, you earn your naps in that time span. Of those 8 to 9 hours, probably 4 of them are spent trying to shove food in your mouth. The other day I heard you playing with your monitor after I put you down for a nap. I went in the room to redirect you to sleep and you very endearingly patted the pillow next to you and said, “mama, mama”, directing me to lay down next to you. How could I refuse? We cuddled for about ten minutes, you, me, and little Van swimming around in my belly. I felt whole and complete and so proud to be the one you call mama. You sure are a sweet little boy.
Development: Your game of peek-a-boo has transformed into hide and seek. You’re destined to be the kid reaching into the cookie jar thinking we don’t see you because your eyes are shut. Nothing brings you more joy than popping out from behind a chair or from behind your blanket and unveiling your “hiding” space.
You’ve become a much better listener and are able to hold my hand in public places. It depends, of course, where we are going. If you’re going to be a bull in a China shop, then I still have to put you in the stroller. I brought you into the post office the other day and you stood by my side and held my hand. I’m hoping this good behavior continues.
You can be quite bossy. The other day you ordered me to open the broom cabinet, then you proceeded to take out the broom, bring it over to me and pull my hand to the hallway where you patted the ground instructing me to sweep the floor. You’re very persistent.
We’ve cracked down on hitting. You don’t do it too often, but every now and again you’ll smack Sarah or pinch her fur. Luckily your dog is incredibly loving and patient, but any other dog would snap back in a second. I’ve also witnessed you hit other children from time to time. Usually it’s in a playful way, but not always. We’ve been diligently scolding you, waiting for the day you have enough brain cells to comprehend the fact you can go around smacking animals or people.
Oh yes, and you are able to undo your car seat latch across your chest. We’ve started the “Click it or ticket” campaign to no avail. Screw Graco for making a product a 20 month old can easily manipulate.
Favorites: You’re still into your playskool giraffe, keys, cars, trucks… things that move or facilitate movement. You’re also still into Yo Gabba Gabba, but the obsession seems to be lessening (my fingers are crossed tightly). You love putting keys into locks and quarters into piggy banks. You’re also gaining interest in puzzles. We bought you a mini guitar as well, which you thoroughly enjoy. One step closer to being a rock star.
Upcoming: It’s almost big brother time. Time to show Van the ropes. Also, it BIG news, you made a small tinkle on your potty last night. It was your first real attempt. You managed to muster out a small droplet of piss and we celebrated with a cookie. Papa’s now motivated to try it over and over. In fact, he just sat you back down on the potty and you squeezed a fart out. We’re so proud.
Sunday was my official due date. I picked the latest due date based not on dates (which gave me an earlier due date) but instead on ultrasounds done at seven and eight weeks, which apparently are more accurate. I stuck with the latest date possible for my own piece of mind. I’ve read that second babies typically come earlier and by allowing myself a longer cushion of time it seemed like I was providing myself with the best of safety nets. Though I mentally told myself I needed to prepare to go past my due date, honestly speaking, I didn’t think I actually would. But, here I am with a baby still bakin’ in my womb. Must be a pretty posh life in there.
We spent Sunday on the beach as a family. A family of three. And it dawned one me that even though it feels like this pregnancy is going on forever, Van will be here any day and then we will be four. My midwife said something to me at my last appointment that I truthfully hate to hear. She said, “You know, life is going to get very busy, even hard at times, once Van gets here. Try to relax and enjoy this time with Willy and Hooper”. I say I hate hearing that because it’s so easy for an outsider to say. So easy for an outsider to think logically. I remember people saying the same thing to me before Hooper was born and I vowed never to advise anyone expecting a child to make the most of the time before their child arrives. That’s because once you find out you’re pregnant, you spend the whole pregnancy adjusting your mindset and skillfully planning for the addition. It’s not like you start racing to cross things off your list once you become pregnant… If you planned for it, you do that stuff beforehand and spend the pregnancy, especially the end of the pregnancy, anticipating what’s inevitably going to come. It’s almost impossible to enjoy your time as just a couple because you really have no idea what you’re about to lose.
So as I sat there on the beach with my two guys, it dawned on me that there is a difference between this pregnancy and last: I am able to live in the moment and, as a result, I truly enjoyed our time as a family of three. The thought of it being my due date hardly even passed through my thoughts. I’m trying my best this week to find peace in the wait.
It goes without saying that my google searches have lead me to research on natural labor induction. I want this baby out. And not because my body is throbbing and I’m tired of carrying the extra load (even though this is true)… The pregnancy pains pale in comparison to my fear of a repeat of what happened the first time around: induction, constant monitoring, pitocin, delivering on the operating room table, etc. I fear that the later this pregnancy goes, the more jeopardized my birth plan becomes. Remember I chose a home birth based on the fact that I truly feel it’s what’s safest for me and for my baby. While many misconstrue my decision to be emotional, rest assured that there is plenty of scientific research to back up my decision. With that said, I’ve put a lot of love and care and forethought into my decision and the later I get in pregnancy, the more I see my control over the situation diminishing. I digress.
Inducing labor naturally (isn’t that an oxymoron?) at home is a funny thing. All the sites seem to say the same thing: acupuncture, acupressure, pineapple, evening primrose oil, homeopathics, sex, walking, castor oil, spicy food. But there seems to be an asterix attached to each method that states: These methods will only work if your baby is ready to come out. Let me translate this asterix in more plain English: “Listen you crazy pregnant lady, I know you want your baby to come out. You can try A, B, and C, and even E, F, AND G if it makes you feel better and helps fill your days of waiting. Labor will still happen, however, whenever the f*#$@ it feels like happening. Try this natural induction method instead: WAIT”.
And yet I can’t stop eating pineapple after pineapple in hopes of a puddle of amniotic fluid magically appearing at my feet. I went to get a refill on the homeopathic medicine I’ve been taking. I instructed the homeopathoIogist that I’m now at my due date and need the stronger dose. She gave me the instructions regarding dose and frequency and then said something all too familiar, “If it doesn’t work, then your baby just isn’t ready to come and you can try taking the same dose at the same intervals the next day”. My wheels started spinning, I paid the nine bucks, and I waddled back to my car thinking, “Screw her, she used the asterix. What she is basically telling me is that I can take her shit or leave it and either way my baby will come when he damn well pleases”. I came home and bragged to Willy about my epiphany. He said, “So you didn’t buy the stuff, did you?”. And I said, “Of course I did”. I know, silly. BUT, I explained to Willy that it’s like knowing you’re going to die. You can’t just let death happen, you have to die trying. It’s much too hard to sit here and complacently wait. I have to feel proactive, like I’m working toward the baby coming out. I have to fool myself into thinking I have at least an ounce of control. It’s the only way to stay sane.
I’m confused as to whether I’m giving birth to a teenager or a dependant being because if it’s the latter, shouldn’t I be the one calling the shots? What’s that you say? I have to learn this lesson all over again and forfeit all control? Screw you, pregnancy. Screw you.
There are few toys that you can honestly say last through various developmental stages. This is why we don’t invest in too many. Okay, okay, it’s also partly due to the cost of new toys and the clutter they add to the house. We don’t have a big home and it’s hardly my goal to fill each corner and crevice with big clunky devices that are hot one minute and cold the next. So why do I love Hooper’s vintage playskool giraffe? I love it for a lot of reasons, really. For starters it was a gift from his grandma. Gotta love awesome gifts. It makes a great photo prop. It’s also been one his favorite toys since he was ten months old and using it as a crutch to start walking. Then he was walking on his own and he no longer needed it for support but was too little to actually ride it, so he carried it everywhere. Then he became big enough to ride it and now he loves for us to push him on it while he lifts up his feet and enjoys the ride. In any case, it’s gotten a lot of use and is one of his favorite toys. So, with no further adieu, here are some pics of Hooper with his beloved “gia”, or giraffe.
Etsy seller Fuzzymama has this one for sale for a very reasonable price, if anyone is interested.
The other day I was watching Hooper play with my mom. He was running in circles and giggling. I asked my mom, “What was I like at this age?”. Of course she had a general answer that summed up my personality for much of childhood, but the rest of her answer is what resonated. She said, “Honestly, I don’t remember. I know you look at him now and think you’ll never forget these moments, but you do”. I felt my heart sink into my abdominal cavity. Then I felt a strong urge to grab a video camera and begin recording, only to never stop and have the final result be one long video of my little love’s life. And then I realized that wasn’t practical for many reasons. Then reality set in. Being a mother is about appreciating moments in time, being part of moments in time, and laughing, loving, and cherishing all that is precious in those moments. Because the moments pass. And new moments take their place. And time keeps moving onward.
I look at Hooper’s little face today and try my best to fool myself into believing that I will never forget those cheeks, that grin, or the sound of that giggle. But, alas, the cheeks will change, the grin will grow, and the giggle will deepen and surely life will still be beautiful.
The last leg of pregnancy, for me, is an emotional roller coaster. The challenge is detaching myself and letting nature run her course. It’s an odd feeling to be housing a baby but have absolutely no control over when it comes out. Oftentimes I feel like people are looking to me to have some mysterious sixth sense and answer the question of when he’s coming, though I have no more control or insight over it than anyone else. I put a lot of pressure on myself and in a lot of ways I realize I dig my own hole. Van will come whenever he feels fit, I need to trust in that. Easier said than done, I assure you.
Google is my worst best friend, the kind that your mom always warned you was trouble and you knew in your heart of hearts she was right but you still couldn’t seem to turn down an invite to a sleep over. I want so desperately to waste my days researching natural induction methods and signs of impending labor. In an effort to fool myself into thinking labor is just around the corner, I’m fighting the urge to start tracking the time between my braxton hicks, which granted have gotten stronger but are still not the real thing. But the reality is no matter how much time I spend researching this or that, nature reigns all. I have no control and it’s the hardest pill to swallow this late in pregnancy.
I have tons of “what if this” and “what if that” kinda questions, questions that no professional out there can answer… Questions more appropriately asked to the magic eight ball I so naively allowed to control my fate years back when I had beaded curtains separating my closet from my room and glow in the dark stars pasted all over my ceiling. I’m anxious to say the least and it has me on edge. It’s an all too familiar feeling and the more the script seems to match the prior one, the more anxious I become.
I read a rumor the other day that the Beatles “Let it Be”, written by Paul, was written for his mother Mary who was a midwife. Needless to say, I added it to my labor playlist. I’m trying my best to let things be these days, but trust me, it’s a battle.
A friend of mine gave birth to her second baby boy six weeks ago. Her first son is three days younger than Hooper. We met up at the beach the other day and while the boys fed each other blueberries and goldfish, us mom’s discussed the return to the newborn stage. It’s hard for me to imagine enjoying the newborn stage all over again. I watch Hooper now and he’s so entertaining and lively and enjoyable. When I think of newborns, I think of a parasite attached to my tit, long sleepless nights, and constant kink working outing. Do I sound cynical? I sense that I do. Anyway, in talking with Lisa, I realized that there is magic that accompanies giving birth. You see, when you birth a baby you are not merely bringing a human being into the world. You are also birthing a maternal bond, a maternal instinct. It dawned on me that I cannot feel it now because it has not yet taken place. I trust greatly that with Van’s arrival will also come a re-found love for all things fully dependent and cuddly and vulnerable. That’s what I saw in Lisa, anyhow, and it’s a beautiful thing.
So while the boys played peek-a-boo around the trash can and chased birds and exchanged hugs, I thought about what’s just around the corner. And an inner excitement started to reside where there was previously only fear.
I’m no pro in knowing what to include in that little suitcase planted at the front door awaiting those infamous words of, “Honey, it’s time!”. I had no plans of even going to hospital the first time around. To be honest, I hadn’t even showered the morning I gave birth. Instead, we hightailed it downtown to our appointment with the backup OB, in his office, and were prompted to go directly from there to the hospital. I had nothing. The following are some things I would have brought…
Toiletries/ overnight stuff // Clothes to bring the baby home in // My labor tunes (keep in mind the hospital may or may not have an iPod deck or a CD player, so pack your own) // Labor snacks // Purse // Granny panties // Camera // Birthing ball // Cell phone and charger
I can tell you from having nothing that it didn’t really matter. The experience is so solidified in my mind as being incredibly momentous and empowering that I can’t say I lost much by not having my pre-determined labor tunes playing or even having it all captured on camera… and for those who know me, you know I have trigger finger. Point being, you and your support team are all you need. Keep it simple.
There is a bond that only siblings have the privilege of knowing. My sister and I didn’t always have the most in common growing up and we fought often. We are 19 months apart. But once we became adults, our friendship flourished. She’s taught me a lot about life and myself and it’s because of my relationship with her that I look so forward to the friend Hooper will soon have for life in his brother Van. My sister came out to visit over the weekend to celebrate my birthday and watch the US gymnastics Olympic trials. We joined my parents Saturday evening at the Huntington Library in Pasadena for a picnic and tunes from the roaring 20’s. It was a splendid evening. I laughed so hard I cried, I think we all did, compliments of the face juggler app on the iPhone. I highly recommend checking it out. Here’s some shots from our Saturday evening.
There’s no better way to celebrate the 4th of July than to dress up in patriotic gear. With that said, here’s a red, white, and blue edition of Style de Hooper. Happy Birthday, America.
Vintage shirt: Flea market find
Vintage shorts: From etsy seller littlereadervintage and man have they gotten worn a lot. The elastic waistband has allowed Hooper to wear these for what feels like eons. Total score.
Get the look: Try this shirt, or this shirt, or this shirt, or this shirt. Try these shorts, or these shorts, or these shorts, or these shorts, or these shorts. You can buy high-top Converse here.
Wishing everyone a safe and happy 4th of July!
As a side note, I want to thank everyone for the responses to Hooper’s birth story. I received a lot of verbal and written encouragement and ya’ll reminded me that I am capable and strong. Thank you too for those of you who shared your own stories. They left me inspired.
We hit up a local flea market the other weekend and came home with some awesome finds, mostly for Hooper and Van, of course. Here’s some of what we picked up:
A slew of vintage clothes. I refuse, by the way, to pay more than $5 for any piece of children’s clothing. I drive a hard bargain, but I usually end up with what I want.
These silly stuffed animals, two for $3.
Vintage Nike sneakers, $8 and high-top Converse, $5.
Vintage potholder and kitchen towel, $5.
Vintage Golden Books, $2 for both.
And a couple records, because we rarely leave anywhere without a few.
When I first saw the current collection from More of Me Maternity, I’ll be honest, I wanted to stay pregnant forever. I’ve never seen such a flattering and stylized collection of maternity clothes. I boycotted maternity clothes completely with my first pregnancy, with the exception of a dress I had to purchase for a wedding I attended when I was 36 weeks. And I hated it. This time around, I’ve made due with many of the clothes I already had in my closet but did manage to add a pair of maternity jeans. But let me tell you… If I were rolling in dough… Let me stop there, because there is no dough floating around these parts to be rolled in. But, I will say that I have done some digging and have found two affordable alternatives to one of the MoMM maternity dresses I had been swooning over. The best part, aside from the price tag, is that they aren’t even maternity dresses… Meaning when the bump is gone, these fellas can still hang delightfully in my closet. Not bad, right?
